The girl with the weight of the world in her hands

The girl with the weight of the world in her hands

she won’t recover from her losses
she’s not chosen her path, but she watches who it crosses
maybe move to the right, maybe move to the left
so we can all see her pain she wears like a banner on her chest
and we all think it’s sad, and we think it’s a shame, ah
she’s called to our attention, we do not call her name

the girl with the weight, ah
the girl with the weight of the world in her hands

we are busy with our happiness and busy with our plans
I wonder if alone she wants it taken from our hands
but if things didn’t keep on getting any harder
she might loose her sacred chance to go a consecrated martyr

the girl with the weight ah— of the world in her hands

I wonder which saint that lives inside a bead
will grant her consolation when she counts upon her knees
it makes us all angry although we fail to care
who’ll be the scale to weigh the cross she has to bear

the girl with, the girl with
the girl with the weight of the world in her hands

– with vocalise

“Is the glass half full or empty?" I ask her, as I fill it
she said “It doesn’t really matter, ’cause soon you’re bound to spill it”
with the half-logic language of the sermon she delivers
and the way she smiles so knowingly at me, gives me the shivers
I pull the blanket higher when I’m finally safe at home
and she’ll take a hundred with her but she always sleeps alone

oh the girl with the weight of the world in her hands

I wonder which saint who lives inside a bead
will grant her consolation when she counts upon her knees
it makes us all angry although we fail to care
but who will be the scale to weigh the cross she has to bear

the, the girl with the weight
the girl with the weight
ah, the girl with the weight, oh-ee-oh-ee-ah

oh the girl... with the weh-ah-
ah, the girl with the weight of the world in her hands